


The Great Problem of being Drenched in Fine (Fuuto) Weather

by duckiesandlemons



Category: Kamen Rider W (Double)
Genre: Contest Fic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Post-Canon, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckiesandlemons/pseuds/duckiesandlemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A humid summer's day in Fuuto, a broken AC, and Philip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Problem of being Drenched in Fine (Fuuto) Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paranoid_Affections](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoid_Affections/gifts).



> Written for [Kazuraba-Kouta's End of Gaim Tokusatsu Song Fic Challenge!](http://kazuraba-kouta.tumblr.com/post/96067331422/kazuraba-koutas-end-of-gaim-tokusatsu-songfic)
> 
> The song I used was "The Great Trouble of Being Drenched in Fine Weather" by Kenshi Yonezu--which I used to title this as well. The song is [here](http://duckiesandlemons.tumblr.com/post/96338583248/jajaumasan-kenshi-yonezu-shitodo) and the lyrics are [here](http://vgperson.com/lyrics.php?song=drippingwetsun). Although I did not use all the lyrics, so.

The humidity of Fuuto hits him in the agency at exactly 2:00 p.m. on the dot.

It’s marked by a convenient break of the building’s AC.

Even decorated with a pretty bow tie when the rotating fan he owns breaks along with it.

It prompts an immediate phone call to the AC repair service about two blocks down, complete with arguing with the old man who runs it.  It’s no use, anyways, because he’s then put on hold for about five minutes.  The old man comes back and tells him no dice most of his people are out doing other jobs it won’t be until later.  You can wait until later, right?  He just gives up then, agrees, and when the phone call is done slams it back on the cradle.

He picks it up and puts it back on gentler out of some kind of guilt.

Electronic gadgets have feelings too, sort of, and he just thinks back to the collection of gizmos and gadgets they own.  No use thinking on the feelings of inanimate objects though, and he yanks at his tie.  That’s taken off, thrown to the side, his sleeves rolled up, and vest and button up undone.

At exactly 2:12 p.m. Hidari Shoutarou is sitting inside a sweltering agency fanning himself with a makeshift fan and wondering what life had against him.

Life had a lot of things against him.

Most likely. It’s probably some divine karmic backlash just now hitting him a few years late after some other stupendous mess ups he’s done in life.  Or at least something covering the smaller ones Shoutarou’s done some stuff in his life he’s not exactly proud about.  A good example being like bleaching his bangs, even if he did think they looked good at the time.  Another time being that--well.

Well…

“It’s too hot, my brain’s melting,” he says out loud to nobody in particular.  If Philip happens to hear it, Philip happens to hear it.  An amazing feat, considering Philip’s usual habits.  “Is there going to be a case today, will there be a case today, do I have any other cases,” it’s now just a case of rambling to himself.  Anything to distract from the heat and the humidity and the way the sweat’s starting to appear on his skin.  It glues his shirt to him in uncomfortable ways, makes every movement feel as if he’s got a damp towel slapped on.  

Not good feelings over all, and the only other thing he could--

Ah, there’s nothing for him to do and he doubts anyone is going to come in if it’s this hot out.  Shoutarou makes a face and leans back in his chair.  What else can he do?  What else is there for him to even try to get his mind off of this heat?  There’s the radio, always the radio.  And if he tunes in right now then Healing Princess should be--

He’s already halfway to the radio when he realizes that Healing Princess is never going to air again.  

Wakana isn’t even alive anymore, with what she’s done and--two years.

This heat is messing up his head.  This heat is messing up his head badly so he just turns the radio on anyways to try and get his mind onto other things.

 

_“On the day the Endeavor sets out, the cigarette smoking angel sings--”_

 

The first notes of the song that comes on is a stark contrast to everything that Healing Princess used to have.  Harsh notes to the upbeat tone that accompanied Wakana when she spoke, a too high contrast that leaves Shoutarou feeling bad.  Of course the entire purpose of turning on the radio in the first place is to think of something else.

Not to focus on Wakana.

Or that there’s no Wakana.

He wonders if Philip, late at night, still mourns the loss of the sister he cared for.

Shoutarou pinches his cheek to try and draw his mind away from the depressing thoughts trying to make their way to the front of his brain.  Heat just does bad things to his head in general.  Scrambles his thinking processes up and makes him not work at his prime.  Or motivate him.  So that’s why he has all these stupid thoughts.

They’re not quite stupid, though.

They’re important.

Wakana gave up everything she was to bring Philip back.  Shoutarou’s not sure how he can ever repay her.  Remember her, yes, but as to anything he can do?  He’s not sure he can take on the burden of another person’s will.

“Please love Philip,” he’s pretty sure she had wanted to say.

 

_“In the corner of the multi-tenant building a little yawn seeps out--”_

 

“Shoutarou, did something happen to the air conditioner,” of course here comes Philip.  The old cliche seen in many of the crime dramas Shoutarou likes to watch, in the novels he likes to read.  Mention someone, think about them, and they’re there.  

“It broke,” Shoutarou deadpans, “and that old man at the repair shop said it’s going to be a while before they can get here because they’re booked.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“I’ve seen his people out drinking when they should be working.”

Not much Shoutarou can do and he’s back to fanning himself out of irritation.  Although he can’t help but think that Philip came up because he also felt the sudden unease in Shoutarou.  Maybe Philip heard some of Shoutarou’s thoughts about Wakana and came up to put them at ease.  In his own special Philip way that even after spending two years (and a year of absence to think on it) with him Shoutarou still can’t quite figure out because it’s all Philip.

All uniquely Philip.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring that up on the phone,” Philip’s moved to take a seat at one of the tall chairs, shrugging off his outer coat.  It bunches behind his back, threatens to fall to the floor.  A pointless detail Shoutarou takes in to try and empty his head some.  He doesn’t need Philip probing his head too much.

Shoutarou idly turns his chair some, “Not much use when he’d violently deny it and I don’t exactly have proof.”  Never bothers to cross his mind on taking pictures of it when it happens.

“Or are you a little hopeful that perhaps they’re not quite like that?” it’s said with a light tone to it.  Philip’s way of teasing.  It’s not a particularly harsh bite to Shoutarou’s bleeding heart persona but it still causes him to make a face.

His hand comes up to clutch at his heart, mock hurt, “You got me, fully my intent.”  A small laugh is shared between them at that.  Philip seems to note that the radio is on, or has known.  He gives it a quick look before returning his gaze back to Shoutarou.

“Are you trying to distract yourself from the heat?”

“Well the fan’s broken too--”

“There’s a fan downstairs, Shoutarou.”

There is.  Shoutaoru can’t believe he forgot about that.  His face scrunches up at that.  Shoutarou decides to not comment on that, at least ignore the slightly smug look Philip has on his face for pointing out that particular flaw in Shoutarou’s thinking.  Not like Shoutarou can help it, it’s hot as a summer in Fuuto can be.  So what if it kind of screw his head up some?

Of course--

 

_“Currently I live amid sarcastic fault finding--”_

 

“Is there something else you’re trying to not think about?” Philip hits it dead on.

Shoutarou clams up at that.  Looks down and away, anywhere but at Philip’s face.  He’s not sure what kind of look to wear himself, really.

 

_“What face should I make?”_

He’s always been bad at hiding what he really feels, after all.

Half-boiled.

 

_“I unnaturally try to mimic a laugh.”_

Shoutarou’s smile feels more like a grimace, “Not at all.  Just the heat.”  He tries to give Philip a reassuring grin, but he can’t quite make eye contact.  Shoutarou can’t tell Philip that he wonders if Philip mourns.  Shoutarou can’t tell Philip that he feels responsible for Wakana’s death when she had done it all as a conscious decision.

He feels like it’s not his place to say that he’s not fit to show the love Wakana had for Philip.

He has issues trying to be the man Boss was--is.  He has no place loving Philip as Wakana did.  He has no place, especially when...especially when...

“Shoutarou, things like that shouldn’t be kept to yourself,” Philip is sliding from his chair and making his way towards the desk.  “Various sources say they can lead up to illness due to heightened stress and a weakening of the immune system.”  Philip places his hands on the desk, leaning forward to stare directly at Shoutarou’s eyes.  Or tries to, but Shoutarou keeps leaning back in his chair some; hides his eyes by trying to look down.  

Philip doesn’t let this deter him in anyway.

It just makes him a bit more determined, bolder, in his next few words, “If it’s about me not being real I can assure you that I am very much flesh and blood.”  Shoutarou wants to say that’s not it, that’s definitely not it.  He knows Philip is “very much flesh and blood” now thanks to Wakana.  So it’s not that.  Even if Shoutarou still has nightmares where Philip is gone for good, even if Shoutarou has dreams where the one who is helping him in the agency isn’t Philip but Wakana, it’s not that.

“If you need any more proof than that--”

Shoutarou tunes out Philip’s words, because he’s not sure exactly what to say to properly tell him that Philip’s existence isn’t what’s bothering him.  How exactly is he going to piece together words he knows in his head but can’t seem to get out properly?  Philip, I feel really awkward because the love that your sister wants me to give you isn’t exactly the love I feel?

This heat is getting to be too much, and he feels hotter still.

Because this is looking something he doesn’t want to look at straight in the eye.  Things he’s been trying to deny, or trying to not let get in the way, mixing with his own insecurities.  Sure it’s still a bit awkward in his own mind.  Sure it’s something that took Shoutarou a while to realize.  The love Wakana wants him to give Philip is familial.

Platonic.

Shoutarou doesn’t feel that way about Philip at all.  

“Shoutarou,” Philip’s voice is just a bit harsher.  It makes Shoutarou reluctantly look.

 

_“Carrying the brilliantly shining sun, the weather’s nice today--”_

The lighting from the summer sun outside makes the mood seem lazy.  A lot more relaxed than Shoutarou felt.  It’s a complete opposite of everything.  Shoutarou can see the dust particles, can see the beams, he’s trying so hard to keep his gaze off of Philip’s face.  He keeps looking though.  He keeps looking for a multitude of reasons.  

Philip is staring him down is the main one.

Philip kind of asked for his attention with how the tone of his voice had been set.

Philip is also nice to look at, if Shoutarou ever let that one voice he tried to deny for so long have a say in any of it.

Shoutarou’s just a mess of things and feelings that can mean so many things.  Even if they’re the “two in one” detective, even if they’re Double, Philip isn’t a mind reader.  He knows Shoutarou feels upset.  He knows that Shoutarou’s not exactly in the best of moods.  Philip just doesn’t know if it’s the heat and the humidity dropping Shoutarou’s mood, or the perceived issue he has about his existence.

Shoutarou just can’t bring himself to say it’s because of expected ideals and wishes.

“I am _very_ much real,” Philip repeats.  “Wakana--my sister--made sure of that.”

“And are you okay with that now?” Shoutarou lets those words creep out.  They’re the first he’s able to form without that tightness in his throat.  He swallows a bit nervously after that, “I mean...do you--”

Silence greets Shoutarou’s ears again.  The sounds of the cicadas that have made their way and home in Fuuto are the only backdrop.  Shoutarou can feel a trickle of sweat slide down the back of his neck.  With how Philip’s face seems to shift, expression going from neutral to furrowed brows, twisted lips, Shoutarou’s question seemed to spark something.  Maybe now Philip knows.  Maybe now Philip knows what Shoutarou is agonising about.  

Maybe now Philip knows what thoughts the sultry heat of summer had brought into Shoutarou’s head.

Shoutarou let too much be said in his question.  

He’s done exactly what he didn’t want to do.

 

_“Let’s go out and play, commit more mistakes--”_

 

Philip’s voice--Shoutarou can’t read Philip’s voice at all when he speaks up.  “Is that what’s been bothering you?” he keeps his voice steady.  He doesn’t even look all that troubled at all, and somehow that just makes it worse.  Shoutarou doesn’t like being unsure like this.

“Well,” he licks his lips.  He has no answer to that.  Not one he’s willing to give, anyways.  He can’t even think of his usual comebacks.  He clams up, reluctant, and it’s always like this.  Every time, every single time.  Shoutarou wishes maybe the way he shows his honesty on his face can be pushed to words.

Philip seems to pick up on it, however.  Now that he knows what exactly it is that’s bothering Shoutarou, he’s picking up every single one of Shoutarou’s actions that shows he’s uncomfortable.  Shoutarou can feel it with how Philip just _stares_.  He kind of wishes Philip would do something else, say his name or something.  With how it is now, it’s just Philip waiting.  He’s waiting for Shoutarou to say his own piece, offer an explanation, or at least ask more questions.

That’s a difference there--Philip’s patient where Shoutarou isn’t.  When Shoutarou is out of his element, antsy, Philip is calm regardless of what he may feel underneath.  Here, Shoutarou is kind of envious.  The calm and collected demeanor he kind of always wanted--is still working for--displayed perfectly in his partner.

Shoutarou sucks in a breath, “I just--”

“Wakana...is important to me,” Philip cuts him off.  “I cared for her…”  It looks to be Philip’s turn to try and struggle for words.  Maybe Shoutarou isn’t the only one the heat is getting to.  “No, I still care for her, even if she’s not here anymore,” Philip continues, “I have many things to thank her for.  One of them being that she gave me another chance when she didn’t have to.”  

Philip walks around the desk, standing at the side of Shoutarou’s chair.  

The atmosphere is heavy, even with the hazy look the light gives the agency.

 

_“Keep going down the narrow path--”_

 

“I miss her, I sometimes find myself wishing there had been a way for me to be brought back without her sacrificing her own body,” Philip grabs a hold of the arm of Shoutarou’s chair.  He doesn’t bother to move the chair at all, just lets his hand rest there.  “I think that’s a good sign--that I miss her.  Before, I might not have cared as much.”

Too caught up in his research, too busy admiring Wakana as she is, the wrong kind of grief.  Or as wrong as it could possibly feel.  A loss of a sensation, of a voice Philip liked, but never for what Wakana meant to him.  Shoutarou can understand that.

“That is a good thing,” Shoutarou’s gaze flits down to Philip’s hand.  He brings his own up to grasp tentatively at Philip’s wrist.  “I’m glad you miss her,” Shoutarou shakes his head, “I mean, I’m not happy because she’s dead or anything I--argh.”  He’s not very good with words still.  Philip understands enough.  When Shoutarou looks back up there’s a sort of there smile and a fondness in Philip’s eyes.

“It’s thanks to you,” he says.  “Your half-boiled personality does help in some ways.”

“Hey,” and they’re sort of back to that easy vibe from when Philip first came up.  Shoutarou can’t say much after that.  He’s got a few things to say on the tip of his tongue but he just lets them rest there.  He focuses on the fact he has Philip’s wrist in his hand, and how his palms are sweaty.  His heart is beating just a bit faster in his chest but he feels calm all the same.

While his worries aren’t totally erased, while he’s not exactly put at ease with his insecurity, this is nice.  

 

_“And we’ll erase the tortuously painful days--”_

 

Shoutarou lets his eyes slide shut, lets his thumb move up and down the fabric of Philip’s sleeve.  He takes it all in and tries not to think too hard on how he can’t quite fulfill what Wakana wants, and how in turn what he feels will sit on the wayside.  Philip may not feel the same, after all.  Instead Shoutarou will focus on what his Boss wished, what Shoutarou himself wishes.

As corny as it sounds, with Philip back Shoutarou feels like he can do it.  Together, what Wakana gave up will not be forgotten (and maybe in a ways she fights alongside them now).  Shoutarou takes another steadying breath and pushes everything to the back of his mind again.  Philip is back, Akiko and Terui are also helping them, Shoutarou isn’t quite as alone as he once was.  

Feelings, insecurities, he can push them away as long as he can keep this.

Not being able to answer Wakana’s request--that kind of thing can wait until later.

“But,” Shoutarou opens his eyes to look back at Philip, “I have a feeling that Wakana isn’t the only thing that bothered you.”

Shoutarou can’t stop the stretch of his lips into a thin smile, “...yeah.”  Shoutarou has many things he’s not quite ready to say on that subject.  Philip looks awkward, standing there and leaning forward a bit, arm trapped by Shoutarou’s hand.  He doesn’t seem to mind much, and he hasn’t moved yet.

“Just like you.”

Philip doesn’t say much past that.  

He moves, quick, and Shoutarou can’t get a word out when he’s dragged into an awkward hug.  Philip’s wrist clasped in Shoutarou’s hand, one of Philip’s arms draped around Shoutarou’s shoulders, and Shoutarou’s face pressed against Philip’s front.  It’s too hot for something like this, and Shoutarou wants to say something.  Something short like “let go” or “are you trying to make me melt.”  

Shoutarou tries.  He opens his mouth, curls his tongue some to start speaking, but just lets it fall flat.  He closes his mouth, opens it, tries again, with the same results.  

 

_“And we’ll erase the days of tortuously painful experiences--”_

 

“Did you, perhaps, take it upon yourself to fulfill Wakana’s last request?” Philip’s voice rumbles in his chest.  Shoutarou can sort of feel it, sort of hear it, pressed close as he is.  “Is it something you felt that only you, and you alone, could do?” Philip just keeps talking.  Shoutarou just tries to pull back but Philip doesn’t let him.

“They say that hugs are something that helps people connect and become closer.  While we don’t necessarily need that,” a pause, “it has been something I’ve wanted to do.  Hugs are also said to provide a sort of comfort, to show affection.”

“Wait--”

Shoutarou tries to pull back again but Philip once again stops him.

“Wakana is just one of many things.  I don’t want you to forget her, I don’t want to forget her, but Shoutarou--”

Shoutarou squeezes his eyes shut to try and stop tears he can feel pricking at his eyes.

“--moving on is important.”

Quiet.

“I know,” he croaks out.  

“And Wakana’s request, I know what it is,” Philip fists the back of Shoutarou’s vest.  “To show the love she couldn’t.”  

Philip just states it.  There’s nothing fanciful behind his tone, nothing showing that he’s sad.  Yet that alone just says a lot.  That alone shows everything Philip’s ever felt about his sister.  Shoutarou nods.

“And your reason for being unsure of that is--”

Shoutarou doesn’t want to hear it.  His hand grips Philip’s wrist tighter, he presses his face into Philip’s shirt--all in a want to not hear what it is Philip’s about to say next.

“--is that the love you feel isn’t what she feels.”

Shoutarou doesn’t say anything.  A blush from embarrassment is starting to creep up his neck, coloring already red ears from the heat even redder.  Philip sighs (Shoutarou feels that motion, too) but doesn’t quite let go.  Philip is actually trying to be careful with his words, it seems, if the way he keeps quiet says anything.  It says a lot, really.

“Platonic love,” Philip starts, “is different than what I feel for you.  The love that I want to receive from you, if you are going to fulfill Wakana’s request, is something different from that.”  Those words make Shoutarou try to pull back, for sure.  Just to make sure he’s hearing things right.  

“Wait--”

 

_“We don’t need ‘em, throw it away!”_

“The love I want, and the things I want to experience, are things that I don’t want to have given to me based on a request,” Philip lets him go this time, and they stare at each other.  Shoutarou isn’t quite sure on what to say with something like this.  Philip finds it perfectly okay to keep on speaking, “I’ve read and reread countless definitions and articles on what love is.  I’ve taken detailed notes and I’ve committed everything to memory.  I’ve wanted to know what it feels like, how someone knows when they’re in love.”

“Have you figured it out?” Shoutarou questions.  “Is there an answer?”

“No,” Philip’s response is to the point.  “But I have a good guess on what it is.”

“I see.”

“Shoutarou, like I said, the love I want from you I don’t want it to be from a request,” Philip finally moves the hand that he had resting on the arm of the chair.  “I want it to be from you.”  He uses it to turn the chair more towards him, and then grabs both of Shoutarou’s arms to pull him up.  Shoutarou is looking up just a bit to meet Philip’s eyes, annoyingly enough.

“You’re just making assumptions here,” Shoutarou grumbles.  “You don’t even know.”

“But am I wrong?”

Shoutarou lets out this noise of half-protest, words dying on his tongue.  His shoulders end up slumping and he shakes his head.  “Not really,” it’s the closest Philip’s going to get as a confession from him.  Philip likes that answer if the look he gets says anything.  

“If my sister’s request still bothers you, then I don’t mind if you try and fulfill it,” Philip drags Shoutarou just a bit closer, “just make sure your own love is there with it.”

Shoutarou snorts, “And you said I was the cheesy one.”

“Research also shows that there’s not a way to be cool when confessing.”

“Did you read teenaged romance novels?”

Philip’s smile is a bit smug, “Just the ones Akiko let you borrow and that you kept.”  Shoutarou kind of wants to strangle him a bit.

 

_“The makeover superstar is doing nonsense between trysts--”_

 

“You’re,” Shoutarou shakes his head and lets it drop.  Incriminating evidence--he can’t deny anything.  But he does press himself a bit closer.  Even in this heat, even though he feels like he’s burning up, this is a sort of assurance he didn’t know he needed.  That love he didn’t feel fit to give--the feelings he’s been fighting with.

It’s nice to know that Philip has been feeling the same.

“I’m?” Philip’s trying to be cute now.  

“You’re...really horrible,” and it’s all Shoutarou can say.  What with how close they are, what with how Philip’s hands still hold Shoutaro’s arms, how Shoutarou’s own hands are resting on Philip’s hips.  It’s the closest they’ve been without the belt and Shoutarou can feel every one of Philip’s breaths.  He can feel the heat radiating off of Philip, see each detail on Philip’s face.  “You said you wanted to do other things, right?” he says.

Philip’s eyes brighten, “I did.”

 

_“The struggling on Sunny-Truck is all messed up so don’t come back--”_

 

“So--”

Shoutarou’s not sure how to approach this.  Something like this is all foreign territory, and as much as he likes reading about them he’s sure it’s not quite how it works in fiction.  There’s no swooning, no heated passion from finding out “true love.”  It’s just a very...there...moment.  Something that settled itself in the gaps of time in the lazy afternoon of a hot summer day.  There’s nothing romantic, nothing like Shoutarou sometimes imagines.

All it is, all it had been, was an exchange of words.

Some figuring things out.

A hug.

It’s not all fireworks.

“Kissing has been at the top of the list for a while,” Philip thinks he’s being helpful.  All it does is turn Shoutarou redder.

“I figured--”

“So, let’s try it?”

Shoutarou agrees.

 

_“Carrying the brilliantly shining sun, boy, what nice weather--”_

 

At 2:47 p.m. during a humid summer afternoon in Fuuto, Shoutarou presses his lips against Philip’s.  There’s sweat dripping down his back, his pants stick stubbornly to his legs, and the AC is broken.  There’s nothing amazing about it.  There’s no epiphany, there’s no fanfare.

It’s just his lips against Philip’s, chapped, and too much heat.

It’s just enough that Shoutarou does it again.

At exactly 2:50 p.m. they’re taking in each other’s company, the radio is still playing, and Shoutarou decides to call the AC repair shop again.

 

_“Speak loud--papparapa!”_

  
  
  



End file.
